


The Eagle Has Landed

by ErinPtah



Series: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space [9]
Category: Doctor Who, Fake News FPF
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, M/M, Multiple Selves, Paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-20
Updated: 2008-12-01
Packaged: 2019-05-05 02:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14607105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/pseuds/ErinPtah
Summary: Ten and Jack try to take young Stephen back home. He decides he'd rather crash the TARDIS in an unknown time/place and run off into a snowstorm.Closer to the present day, Four and Sarah Jane respond to a lost alien stranded at the Daily Show studio....





	1. Chapter 1

**Han Wavel: 3004 AD.**   
_The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44._

"How about this, then?" called the Doctor through Stephen's still-locked door "We've landed on one of the great wonders of the universe. A planet of luxury hotels and casinos, all formed entirely by natural erosion. Are you interested?"

No answer.

"We're really going out this time!" he added. "You're going to be left behind if you don't come along!"

Still nothing.

"Suit yourself," said the Doctor. "Come along, Sarah Jane." Together, they walked smartly back up to the console room.

"I can't understand it!" he continued as they stepped out of the TARDIS. "He wasn't tempted by the marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V. The particularly inspiring lichen of Golgafrincham didn't sway him. When I suggested we visit the ancient alabastrum quarries of Zentalquabula, he threw something at the door! I won't be surprised if it left a dent."

"I can't imagine why he wouldn't want to visit a quarry," muttered Sarah Jane.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

⇔

**Han Wavel: 3005 AD.**  
 _The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is old enough to be your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, and then some._

"What's taking him so long?" wondered the Doctor out loud, pacing from side to side in front of the console. "We've got a planet to explore! Food to sample! Other people's money to waste!"

"You told him to 'dress up,'" observed Jack. "Stephen takes dressing up _very_ seriously. Why are you so insistent on him seeing this particular planet, anyway?"

The Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels. "We-ell, I sort of lost my temper with him the last time I was here. Left him in the TARDIS while Sarah Jane and I went exploring, and maybe nagged him a bit later on about how he didn't help us break up the syndicate of crooked lenders that was fleecing tourists. So it's only fair that he get to see the place at some point."

Jack couldn't help it. He grinned.

"Oi!" demanded the Doctor. "What are you smirking about?"

"You're being nice to him! And not freaking out about paradoxes!"

"Well, you've somehow mellowed him out enough that, after we restored the Crown Prince of Ciceronicus 12 to his rightful throne, Stephen let His Majesty snog him in front of the entire court. And the universe hasn't torn itself apart yet. What's a little niceness on my part?"

"What did I tell you?" asked Jack, still grinning.

Instead of replying, the Doctor paused and sniffed the air. A second later the smell hit Jack. Moments after that, Stephen entered the room.

"Hey there!" exclaimed Jack. "Went a little overboard with the cologne there, don't you think?"

"Did I?" asked the kid nervously. "It was in the back of one of my drawers, so I thought . . . but the bottle wasn't labeled or anything, so I wasn't sure how much to use . . ."

"Wash it off," interrupted the Doctor.

Jack looked sharply at him. "Come on, Doctor, it's not _that_ bad."

"Oh, yes it is. Go on, then, wash it off! We'll wait until you're ready."

"Y-yes, sir," stammered Stephen. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," said the Doctor shortly. "It's a timeline thing. Not your fault."

With a quick nod, Stephen bolted for the door.

Jack shot an exasperated look at the Doctor, who avoided it by fiddling with the console. "What was that really about?"

"Caught me off guard, that's all," came the terse reply. "Didn't think any more of that scent existed in the universe, and it turns out there's been a bottle stashed in Stephen's room for the past five centuries."

"Is it from—?"

"—Gallifrey? Yes." The Doctor pulled a lever and a blast of cool air ruffled Jack's clothing, replacing the ancient cologne with gusts of lemony freshness. "Which Stephen is _not_ to be told about. Understood?"

Jack realized that this was not the time to argue. "Aye aye, sir."

⇔

**Dangrabad Beta: 13,452 BC.**

"So I've been thinking," remarked Jack, leaning against the bars of his cell. "Maybe you're right."

In the cell across from him Stephen looked quickly around, as if making sure he was still the only other prisoner Jack could be talking to. "I—I am? About what?"

They had walked out of the TARDIS into the middle of some kind of holy shrine, and the horrified natives had immediately locked them up. Well, except for the Doctor, whom the high priestess had apparently taken a liking to. Jack had spent a while poking around for loose stones or weak bars, but so far the jail had proved secure.

"What we were talking about the other day, on Another Da—I mean, Aglarond. I've gotta go back to Ianto and my team some day."

Stephen adjusted his position on the bare dirt floor. "Yeah."

"All the time I spend with the Doctor," continued Jack, "I'm just putting off the inevitable. And it's not like he's ever going to . . ."

He stopped himself, too late: Stephen was giving him an uncomfortably perceptive look.

"Not going to fix my little not-dying problem," he explained quickly. "Which is why I was looking for him in the first place. So I don't really have an excuse to be here."

"Of course you do!" protested Stephen. "How are you supposed to look out for _me_ if you go back to 2009?"

"I haven't forgotten about you," insisted Jack. "But the Doctor wouldn't let anything happen to you, even if I weren't around. You know that, right?"

"It wouldn't be the same. He's only nice to me when you make him."

"Stephen . . . ."

"It's okay!" said Stephen quickly. "Timeline thing. I get it."

Jack decided not to force the issue. "Look, I promise I won't leave the TARDIS at least until you go home."

Stephen scuffed the toe of his shoe in the dust. "Couldn't I just—stay on the TARDIS until I'm grown up? Then you could drop me on Earth a few years from when I left, and I could start with the destiny thing from there."

"Doesn't work that way," said Jack. "Sorry. You've gotta go back."

"Easy for you to say. _You've_ got a Yan-to waiting for you."

"You'll find someone too."

"Do you _know_ that?" demanded Stephen. "Was it in one of those books about me? Have you seen me with someone? Or are you just guessing?"

The Stephen of the future occasionally referred to a wife and kids; but now that he thought about it, Jack _hadn't_ ever seen them. "Just guessing," he admitted.

"Of course you were." The kid sighed. "How come you're thinking about this stuff now, anyway?"

"Just wondering whether Ianto would be upset if I got us out of here by seducing the guard."

Stephen made a face. "Why would you? She's all scaly."

"And she probably thinks I'm way too pink and squishy." Jack grinned. "Don't worry. I like a challenge."

⇔

**Allosimanius Syneca: 9324 BC.**

A rush of wind blew Stephen, Jack, the Doctor, and a fair heap of snow through the TARDIS doors, nearly knocking Stephen over in the process. They had managed to reach the top of the Ice Crystal Pyramids of Sastantua before the snowstorm hit, and he was still lightheaded from the mind-hurtling beauty of the view.

Even the Doctor was a little stunned with joy as he shrugged off his coat. "Come on, Stephen," he said distantly, waving him towards the console. "I need to show you something."

Stephen followed, nearly walking on air, hardly noticing his own coat even though the TARDIS was pleasantly warm. How could you be uncomfortable in a universe that had such wonderful sights?

"Half the time I just throw on the randomizer and go wherever she feels like going," the Doctor was saying, one hand unconsciously stroking a bit of the console. "But she has a couple of presets. If you enter one of those at this terminal, you go to a predetermined time and location—with adjustments to avoid paradox, of course."

"Of course," echoed Stephen. Then it hit him. "Hang on. Are you showing me how to fly your ship?"

"We-ell, just a little."

In spite of the fact that the feeling hadn't returned to his fingers yet, Stephen felt warm. Never in a million years (literally!) had he expected that the Doctor would teach him to _drive_. A glance at Jack's face confirmed that he was just as dumbstruck.

"Now pay attention, because you'll need to remember this," continued the Doctor. (A surge of hope crashed through Stephen's heart. Did that mean he would be staying? What else _could_ it mean?) The screen lit up with rows of characters that Stephen didn't recognize; the Doctor tapped a sequence of them, and the console began to hum. "Now pull that lever all the way to the right, and hold it until we land."

Stephen pulled. The center column began to pump noisily up and down, the floor vibrating as they tumbled through space and time.

"What word did you type?" he shouted over the clatter. "Where are we going?"

"The word is 'peaches'!" replied the Doctor. "We're going to get the best peaches in the galaxy!"

Stephen froze.

_No. I can't go back. I'm not ready. It's too soon. I need more warning. I need to see more, I need to do more, I don't want to go home, don't make me go home!_

The numbness had receded from his fingers; he was gripping the lever so hard that they tingled.

The lever . . .

Without stopping to think, Stephen shoved the lever as far as it would go to the left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Han Wavel: 3004 AD.**

After the TARDIS had landed, Stephen waited five minutes for the Doctor and Sarah Jane to leave, then five more just in case they had forgotten something. Not until he was satisfied that he was alone in the ship did he roll off of bed and stagger over to the mirror.

"This," he said out loud, "is Formidable Opponent."

His reflection, disheveled and red-eyed, glared miserably at him.

"Shake it off, Col-bert!" he ordered. "So what if you missed the opportunity of a lifetime? It was the right thing to do."

"Then how come I feel so horrible about it?" demanded Stephen Col-bert from the mirror.

"How should I know? Stop thinking so much! If you're going to keep dwelling on Jon instead of enjoying the sights of the universe, you might as well just go home."

His reflection paled. "Home?"

⇔

**????.**  
 _The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is much too old for this sort of thing._

The TARDIS' landing was the roughest Jack had ever felt. He was thrown against a wall so hard his vision blurred.

The next thing he saw clearly was Stephen bolting for the door. It opened to let in a blast of freezing, snow-laden air, and for a moment he thought they were back on Allosimanius Syneca; but if this was the same planet it was at a different time, when instead of being crystal blue the sky was pitch black.

Into this cold and darkness the boy charged.

"Stephen, wait!" shouted Jack, getting to his feet but swaying dangerously before he even took a step.

The Doctor was at his side in an instant. "Easy, Jack. Don't hurt yourself."

"Why are you worried about _me?_ " sputtered Jack. "Stephen's the one in danger!"

"He's perfectly safe. We'll go get him once the storm dies down."

Jack stared. Was this some kind of hallucination? He hadn't thought the bump was _that_ bad. "Doctor, he could die out there! He doesn't come back when that happens, remember?"

"He won't die." The Doctor looked more relaxed than Jack had seen him since Stephen had come on board. "Don't panic. I know how this one ends."

⇔

**Han Wavel: 3004 AD.**

"This trip has to end," said Stephen firmly. "Just like the last one. You didn't want to go home then either, remember? And look how well that turned out."

"It didn't," snapped his reflection.

"Sure it did! You've got the whole Colbert Nation! They love you! They're changing the world for you!"

"They're not doing it for me," said his reflection bitterly. "They're doing it for Truthiness. The only people in the universe who would change so much as a tire for _me_ are the people in the TARDIS."

"And Jon."

"But I can't go back to Jon! Not after what's happened!"

"Don't be stupid! It's not like he remembers who you are. If he did, he would have said something in the last eight years."

"But _I_ remember! I'll never be able to look him in the eye again without remembering that I could have _had_ him. If we try to have a conversation, in five minutes I'll be wondering why I didn't throw the timeline out the window and just stay with him!"

Stephen ignored the images that this idea conjured in his head. No sense being homesick for a time that had never existed.

"You couldn't have," he insisted. "He would have met the younger you while doing _The Daily Show_ and it would've all gone wonky. Or, if he never made to the show, then it wouldn't have taken off and you never would've gotten _your_ show and you wouldn't have been in the South Pacific when the TARDIS landed there. Besides, he was so young! He wasn't the Jon I lo—he wasn't _my_ Jon, I mean. Not yet."

"He was never 'your' Jon anyway," mumbled his reflection. "And now he never will be."

"It's for the best!" cried Stephen. "Now stop whining! And go clean yourself up. You look like a slob."

Thus chastised, he stalked off to the shower.

⇔

**The Vortex.**  
 _The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44._

"Stephen didn't say a word when I told him what he missed on Han Wavel," reported the Doctor. "What do you think we should try next? I was thinking the Marshes of Fallia. There are reports that its gases have caused some unwary hitchhikers to die of pleasure . . ."

"He didn't respond at all?" asked Sarah Jane. "Are you sure he's all right?" She didn't _think_ he would do anything too drastic—and she hoped the Wørd was looking out for him—but you could never be too sure when it came to Stephen.

"The TARDIS would warn me if he were in danger," the Doctor assured her. "No, he's just in a mood. Although I can't think why the prospect of visiting the Great Red Plain of Rars on Preliumtarn doesn't draw him out."

Sarah Jane sighed. "Doctor, isn't it obvious? He's heartbroken, and he doesn't want us to see."

"All the more reason for him to get out of the ship for a while! Give him something to think about besides his own troubles."

"I don't think there's any distracting him right now. Any little thing could remind him of what he's missing. Even the most alien planet, if it has a moon, would make him think about Jon."

The Doctor considered this, then broke into a wide grin. "Sarah Jane, you're brilliant."

"Wait, why?"

The Time Lord was already rounding the console, reaching for dials and buttons and levers. "If he's going to think about Jon anyway, we might as well just cut out the middleman. Setting course for Earth!"

⇔

**????.**

After about a minute of wading through the storm, one arm held up to protect his face from the driving snow, Stephen began to reconsider his plan.

He was still dressed for the freezing weather of Allosimanius Syneca, but he hadn't exactly been warm to start with, so his face and hands were already numb. On top of that, he didn't know where he was going, or even if there was anywhere _to_ go. Walking at random might get him to shelter, but it was just as likely to take him off a cliff.

And it wasn't like he could outrun Jack and the Doctor if they made the effort. By all rights they should have caught him already.

_Well, I'm not going back! If I die out here, it's their fault!_

His thoughts were interrupted when he walked into a wall.

⇔

**The Vortex.**

Stephen straightened his tie.

The routine, once begun, had taken on a life of its own. Wash, brush, shave; press shirt, straighten collar, shine shoes until you could see yourself in them. He didn't have a staff on hand to make sure he was perfect from every angle, but the Wørd had been uncharacteristically helpful, warning him about out-of-place hairs and hard-to-see flecks of dust.

So what if he was falling apart on the inside? His cuffs were even, his buttons were buttoned, and he was going to have the straightest tie the universe had ever seen.

The TARDIS chose that moment to land.

Relatively speaking, the landing was incredibly smooth. It was still bumpy enough to jolt Stephen's hands, yanking loose the knot.

"God _damn_ it!" yelled Stephen to no one in particular, kicking the ground. A moment later he was striding towards the door, aflame with good old-fashioned righteous anger. They had _ruined_ his _tie_. Somebody was going to _pay_.

He yanked the door open, just in time for Sarah Jane to rap her fist against his chest.

" _What?_ " he barked.

She jumped about a foot in shock. "Stephen! Are you all right?"

"I'd be a lot better if people would let me get dressed properly!" snapped Stephen. "Where are we, and why was it so important that we land there right in the middle of my tie-knotting?"

"That's what I came down here to tell you," replied Sarah Jane. "We're in New York City."

⇔

**????.**

The wall was made of wooden planks, or this planet's equivalent. Pressing against it, partly for guidance and partly because his legs didn't seem invested in staying upright, Stephen edged along the side. A few feet down, and he began to see a warm yellow glow through the snow. A window.

He turned a corner, and now there was a roof overhanging him, cutting off just a little bit of the storm's force. Another window. A door.

With frozen fists he pounded, praying there was someone inside to hear.


	3. Chapter 3

**New York.**

"Now here it is, your moment of Zen."

Jon huffed a sigh as he sat back, picking up the script and tapping it into shape. It wasn't the worst rehearsal ever, but it sure could have been better: there were corrective scribbles on every page, and he had a sinking feeling that the whole opening bit about the President didn't work at all.

"Okay, everyone, take five!" he ordered.

The writers and crew filed gratefully towards the studio door. Pushing back his chair, Jon followed the group that was making for the bathroom.

When he finally made it to the writers' room, he found a crowd at the door, and was struck by a vague sense of déjà vu. "What's going on?"

"You gotta see this to believe it," said Rich, as people stepped aside to let Jon through. "It went under the table."

Crouching down to get a better view, Jon found himself staring at the biggest beetle he had ever seen. Its mottled green shell was at least six inches across.

Tim was already on the phone with what sounded like animal control, and Leslie left with the declaration that she was going to get a broom and a bucket, but Jon found himself scootching closer to the creature. No way was this thing from Earth.

"Hey there, little guy," he said quietly.

The thing chittered in response.

"Careful, Jon!" hissed Wyatt. "What if it's poisonous?"

"It's probably more scared of us than we are of it," reasoned Jon, inching closer still.

The creature sneezed. At least, it made a noise that _sounded_ exactly like a cat sneezing, its whole little shell jumping with the tiny force. For a giant bug, it was surprisingly cute.

"We're not going to hurt you," said Jon. "How did you get here?"

He was at the edge of the table now, close enough that he could have reached out and touched the intruder's shell.

The bug sneezed again—this time expelling a huge puff of greenish-yellow smoke.

Jon threw himself backwards, but it was too late: the smoke had caught him full in the face, and he was already dizzy . . .

⇔

**????.**

"Drink this."

Something hot and smooth was pressed to Stephen's lips. He swallowed a mouthful of steaming liquid, coughing as some of it went down the wrong pipe.

"Easy there," said a soothing voice. "Just take it slow. Don't want to save you from hypothermia only to have you choke to death."

Stephen tried to focus on the man to whom the voice belonged. His vision was blurred, but as awareness gradually returned he realized that it was because his glasses were missing. For that matter, so was his coat. And his shirt. And very possibly his pants.

"Where'd my clothes go?" he mumbled.

"They're drying by the fire. The electric blanket's keeping your core temperature up. Drink."

Stephen swallowed again, with more coordination this time. It tasted like hot chocolate.

The rest of the world began to assemble itself as he drank. He was sitting in a plush recliner, stripped to his boxers but wrapped in a softly humming electric blanket, with a thicker quilt tucked around him. The scene was illuminated by a few lamps and a flickering fire set in one wall.

"Where am I?" he asked next.

"Montana. Close to the Canada border. No place you have any business being on your own, especially in the middle of a storm. You're very lucky."

 _No kidding,_ thought Stephen dizzily. He wasn't light-years away from South Carolina, but hundreds of miles was probably far enough, and he wouldn't have to learn an alien language to stay.

"Can you hold the cup?" asked his benefactor. "I'll get your glasses."

Stephen extracted his hands from the blankets and wrapped them around the mug. It was, he now saw, dark blue, with _#1 Grandpa_ printed on the side. His fingers tingled painfully, but he managed to grip the cup without dropping it, and swallowed some more of the hot chocolate while the strange man got up.

Once his glasses had been settled on his face, Stephen studied his benefactor. The man was definitely old enough to be a grandfather. His hair was dark, but it was pretty clearly dyed, and getting thin on top. His face, meanwhile, was lined and weathered, with more than its share of laugh lines around the eyes.

He was also, for some reason, dressed in all silver. Maybe it was a Montana thing.

"How do you feel?" he asked, kneeling at the side of the chair.

"Tingly," said Stephen.

The man's lips quirked in a smile.

Stephen felt a surge of irritation over being laughed at, but this person had probably earned the right to do a lot more than that to him, so he didn't protest. "Thanks," he said instead, "mister . . ."

"Stewart," supplied his benefactor. "Mr. Stewart."

⇔

**New York.**  
 _The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44._

Stephen strode into the console room like . . . well, like an oncoming storm.

"Why are we in New York?" he demanded as soon as the Doctor was in view. "I haven't said I want to go back yet!"

"You don't have to," said the Doctor reasonably. "We're only here to visit the _Daily Show_ studio."

Stephen stared at him in horror, then ran to the front door and opened it a crack. The TARDIS was in the park across West 52nd from the studio: through the trees he could see the giant banner of Jon on the side of the building. "I'm not going!" he shouted, slamming the door closed.

"Oh, good! We won't have to fret about another psychic paper mishap," said the Doctor.

Turning to glare at him, Stephen saw that the Time Lord was busy applying something to his mouth. "Are you putting on _lipstick?_ "

"Nothing of the kind!" the Doctor exclaimed. "A first-century Barillian hive mother has somehow gotten herself stuck in the building. If anyone finds her she's likely to panic, which will probably involve releasing stun gas. This is a counteracting agent. It just happens to come in a convenient lipstick-like form. Catch, Sarah Jane."

He tossed the tube across the console; Sarah Jane snatched it from the air and added a layer of the 'counteracting agent' to her own lips. Stephen rolled his eyes. "Now I'm _definitely_ not coming."

"We'll leave the tube, just in case you change your mind," declared the Doctor. "Come along, Sarah!"

"See you in a bit," added Sarah Jane, and followed him out the door.

⇔

**Montana.**

The more Stephen looked around the cabin, the more he began to notice strangely out-of-place objects among the rustic decorations.

One bookshelf had a clock with a digital readout, green numbers glowing on a black background. There was a palm-sized metallic object on the mantel, like one of the tiny phones he had seen Jack and the Doctor use. A gigantic television screen was set in one wall; whether it was recessed somehow or just a very thin screen, he couldn't tell.

And then, of course, there was Mr. Stewart's silver suit. Maybe it wasn't just a Montana thing. Maybe it was a _future_ Montana thing.

"Are you hungry?" asked Mr. Stewart. "We're a little low on food right now; my partner went to town to go shopping right before the storm hit. But I could warm up some leftover herbs and stewed rabbit."

"There's no such thing as a free lunch," mumbled Stephen. It was something he'd heard the Doctor say.

"Maybe not. But this is dinner, and it's on me."

"How come you're being so nice to me? You don't even know my name."

Mr. Stewart smiled. "Are you going to tell me?"

". . . it's Stephen."

"Well, Stephen, do you ever think that some people are just nice?"

"No," said Stephen flatly. _If you want a person to be nice, you have to earn it. Unless that person is Jack. Or, sometimes, the Doctor._

"So that's why you're running away," observed Mr. Stewart.

"I'm not running away!"

Mr. Stewart got to his feet. "I'll go make that stew."

Outside the walls, the storm raged on.

⇔

**New York.**

A dozen people were already queued up outside the studio, waiting for the show to start.

The Doctor went straight past them and flashed the slightly psychic paper at the audience wrangler. Not five minutes later their tour guide had slumped immobile to the ground, overcome by the greenish-tinted air.

"That gets her out of the way," pronounced the Doctor. "All set with the plan, then?"

"Yes, Doctor," said Sarah Jane in some exasperation. "I'll catch the poor lost hive mother while you pump a gaseous version of the antidote into the ventilation system. Nothing to it."

"Excellent! Now, which of us gets to deal with Stephen?"

"Why? Do you think he's going to come?"

The Doctor grinned. "I give him fifteen minutes, tops."


	4. Chapter 4

**New York.**

Dazed-looking staff members were trickling out the front of the building when Stephen finally stalked up. Ignoring the surprised looks, as well as a few cheers from the lined-up audience members, he shoved past them and into the building.

He found the Doctor first, addressing a couple of woozy crew members who seemed to have laid down in the middle of the floor. "Pest control. For your own health and safety, please file out of the building in an orderly fashion."

"What happened?" demanded Stephen, running over to him. "Is everyone all right?"

"They will be," the Doctor assured him. "Some of them are waking up faster than others. We just need to get them out in the fresh air as soon as they can walk. You did put on the counteracting agent, didn't you? The poor hive mother really gassed up the place."

"Yes, I'm wearing the stupid lipstick. Where's—"

He was cut off when Sarah Jane entered from the far door, a writer leaning unsteadily on one shoulder, a covered bucket slung over the other. "Almost there," she encouraged. "Just a few more steps. Hello, Stephen."

Stephen didn't bother with pleasantries. "Jon hasn't come outside yet. Where is he?"

The other two exchanged a look that he didn't like in the least.

⇔

Jon's body lay on the couch in his office, eyes closed, unmoving.

This was no cocky younger version of the man, either. This was the present-day model, with grey in his hair and lines around his eyes and that bit of a tummy that he always tried to hide. This was the Jon who had known Stephen for years, who probably knew him better than anyone else on the planet.

Stephen clenched his hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

"It looks like he got a bigger dose than everyone else," explained the Doctor quietly. "The airborne antidote hasn't kicked in. He'll need something stronger. I don't suppose you brought the solid stuff with you?"

"What, you think I'd carry makeup around? It's bad enough that I'm _wearing_ it!"

"Ah. Then I suppose you'll want to do the honors."

Stephen frowned. "What are you talking about?"

At this, Sarah Jane laughed outright. "Oh, Stephen, he needs a direct application of the stuff that's on all of our lips. Think about it for a minute! Come on, Doctor. Let's give them some privacy."

With that she half-led, half-dragged the Doctor out of the office, closing the door behind them.

⇔

**Montana.**

Once he had satisfied Mr. Stewart that his frozen limbs had regained enough dexterity for him to dress himself, Stephen was allowed to trade the blankets for a pair of oversized flannel pajamas, along with a thick knit sweater, hat, and socks. Thus attired, he sat down for dinner.

The rabbit stew was surprisingly delicious. Stephen put away most of the bowl before responding to Mr. Stewart's earlier accusation. "I'm _not_ running away."

The man didn't miss a beat. "If you had somewhere to go," he pointed out gently, "you wouldn't be outside alone in the middle of a blizzard."

"I do have somewhere to go!" protested Stephen. "I just don't want to go there. That's all."

"Does it really count, then?"

"Of course it counts." Stephen jabbed at a hunk of potato with his fork. "I'm going to end up there eventually. I've got to. I . . . well, I kind of have this destiny to fulfill."

Mr. Stewart raised an eyebrow. "Sounds impressive."

"It is." Better not go into details. If this was far enough in the future, Mr. Stewart probably knew more particulars about Stephen's career than Stephen did. "I'm going to change the world."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"I don't know. But I know it's going to happen. It has to, or else there'll be a—"

He stopped on the verge of the word 'paradox'. It wasn't as if he could explain to this man about time travel, after all.

⇔

**New York.**

As he drifted awake, Jon felt soft lips working against his.

The idea that some random person was making out with him while he was unconscious woke him all the way up in a hurry. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, blinking rapidly. "What the hell?"

His accoster moved back, and if Jon hadn't been alert already, the next shock would have done the job. This was no random person—it was _Stephen_.

A small part of Jon wanted to be delighted, but he was too indignant to pay it any attention. "What do you think you're doing?"

Stephen looked stunned and hurt and frightened all at once, but quickly shifted into indignation of his own. "I'm saving your life, that's what!"

"By molesting me in my sleep?"

"I was _not!_ " insisted Stephen, quickly replacing his glasses. "You got knocked out by the hive mother! Remember?"

Jon rose awkwardly up on his elbows. "Wait. Are you talking about the giant bug thing?"

"Exactly! It gassed you, and you collapsed, and I was administering the antidote! It was completely innocent!" Stephen's red face belied his words, but he pressed on anyway. "I would never come between you and your wife anyway, and believe me, I've had the chance! You should be _thanking_ me, not yelling at me!"

Jon's ire rose again. "For God's sake, Stephen, the divorce was almost a year ago!"

Stephen's eyes went wide. "The _what?_ "

He really didn't know. Unbelievable. "Well, geez, maybe if you ever let me say more than two words at a time to you in the past year and a half, you would have heard about it!"

"Year and a . . . Jon? What year _is_ this?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You know what year it is."

"Jon, please," begged Stephen. "Humor me."

Before Jon could answer, there was a knock on the door, and the person on the other side opened it without waiting for a reply. "Everything all right in here?"

"Doctor!" exclaimed Stephen, turning to the visitor. "What year are we in?"

Jon's stomach did a little flip. Time had blurred the faces in his memory, but one look at that scarf and it all came rushing back.

"Doctor Crazy Scarf!"

"Not a bad name for him," said a woman's voice. Sure enough, there was The Babe, looking exactly as hot as she had almost two decades before.

Vaguely aware that his mouth was open, Jon gaped, first at the visitors and then at Stephen, who was doing a very good impression of a startled deer. "It was you. Twenty years ago. _You_ stole my coffee."

Stephen nodded shakily. "I know it sounds crazy, but . . . ."

It didn't sound crazy at all. What it sounded like was a bunch of stories that Jon had heard from Dave Letterman. Stories about traveling through space and time with a woman named Romana, who was not only a babe herself, but . . .

"Why didn't you ever _tell_ me you'd been the companion of a Time Lord?"

⇔

**Montana.**

Mr. Stewart sat back and folded his hands.

"I know there's more to this than you're telling me," he said slowly. "But I can promise you this: No matter what the situation, you can't just sit back and assume things are going to happen. You have to make the effort."

Stephen clinked his fork back and forth in the empty bowl. "What if it doesn't work out?"

"I thought you were destined to succeed."

"I am! But . . ." Stephen swallowed. "I don't know if I _want_ to. It's gonna be hard, and I'll have to leave the only people who ever really cared about me. Is changing the world worth that? Is _anything_ worth that?"

"You won't know for sure unless you try," observed Mr. Stewart.

When Stephen replied, his voice sounded very small.

"I know what I have to do. I've always known. But I'm so scared."

Rising to his feet, Mr. Stewart took the dishes from him. "Come sit by the fire," he said. "I know that always makes me feel better."

⇔

**New York: 2009.**

It wasn't long before the actual emergency personnel showed up, to fumigate the building and collect the dazed staff. Jon put in a brief appearance out front, just to prove he wasn't dead, before the Doctor flashed some kind of high-tech fake medical ID and whisked him away. Stephen and The Babe (now introduced as Sarah Jane, though the Doctor remained nameless) snuck out the back, the latter now carrying a bucket holding the giant alien bug.

They met in front of the boxy blue spaceship that had appeared across the road, and all piled inside—for privacy, Stephen explained. Jon had been dubious until he saw that 'inside' was bigger than it looked. Then the Doctor and Sarah Jane disappeared through the back door to set up a room for the bug, leaving Jon and Stephen alone.

Sorting out the timelines was a surprisingly easy process. For Stephen, the events of 1994 had happened only a few days ago. But by all rights he belonged in the summer of 2008. A year and a half ago.

Armed with that knowledge, Jon was suddenly and painfully aware of how many things he couldn't talk about. He couldn't even reveal that Winters had won the election, much less that the President-elect had been assassinated before he actually took office. And he certainly couldn't add that the _Report_ 's ratings had tanked in the new political climate.

(How much worse had it been for this Stephen, visiting '94? No wonder he had been tense.)

Fortunately, Stephen was keeping up the conversation. "So of course I didn't talk to you after I got back," he realized. "I couldn't let anything slip that would change what happens now—and if there were any possibility that something I did led to the divorce, I never would have forgiven myself. I'm probably holed up in my office right now, wondering if it's safe to talk to you yet."

He grabbed Jon's shoulders, steered him towards the door. "Find me, Jon! Don't waste another minute!"

"Hang on!" protested Jon, shaking him off. "What am I supposed to bring?"

"What? Nothing. Just bring yourself."

"I can't! Every time I try to get into your studio, you demand to know whether I brought you anything. I've tried a bunch of random stuff, but you never let me in. What is it you're looking for?"

Stephen blinked at him. ". . . I have no idea."

Jon folded his arms. "Well, geez, you'd better figure it out soon, don't you think?"


	5. Chapter 5

**New York: 2009**

The more the three time travelers talked, the more Jon felt left out.

"It's got to be some kind of token," reasoned Sarah Jane. "Something to prove that he's been through this part of his personal timeline. What about a souvenir from your travels? Something unique, like the papilløn cocoon."

"No good," said Stephen, pacing up and down. "That's got to stay here so I can have been going to have found it when I was seventeen. And it's not like I shopped a lot—we only ever went to one mall, and I was locked up for most of the time we were there. Maybe some part of the TARDIS?"

"Absolutely not!" cried the Doctor, appalled.

"What about something anachronistic?" suggested Sarah Jane. "Anything harmless will do, as long as you can't get it in this era. We could go pick it up right now."

"Has to be something I'll remember," added Stephen, then stopped short. "Remember. Remember!" Spinning on his heel, he pointed at the Doctor. "That's it! 'You need to remember this.' Just like you said. Just like you _will_ say, I mean. The word is 'peaches'!"

"'Peaches'?" repeated Sarah Jane. "Couldn't you get peaches anywhere?"

"Not just any peaches," said Stephen with a wild grin. "The best peaches in the galaxy. Which are . . . ?" He looked expectantly at the Doctor.

The Time Lord just looked blank. "I don't know. Which _are_ they?"

"How can you not know this?" demanded Stephen. "It's one of the TARDIS presets!"

"Not yet, it isn't," said the Doctor, moving swiftly to the console. "We're creating it. Right now. Where are we going?"

"South Carolina, summer of 1981." Stephen rattled off the date, then an address. "There should be residual artron energy in the area from the TARDIS dematerializing. Better aim for a few minutes after that."

Jon realized he was staring. Since when had Stephen been so . . . _knowledgeable?_

The Doctor's hands flew over the keys, and with a terrific racket the central column of the console began to move up and down. Jon stumbled as the whole room shook around him.

"When you show me how to do this, in your future," continued Stephen, shouting over the noise, "I yanked a lever the wrong way and then ran off when we landed. Don't worry about it, and don't let Jack worry! Wait until the storm ends before you come looking."

⇔

**Montana.**

Stephen had intended to be vigilant. He really had.

But the crackling flames were warm and more than a little hypnotic. When a sharp knocking sound jolted him awake, though he could have sworn he had only drifted for a few moments, the fire had sunk low in the hearth and the noise of the storm was gone altogether.

Mr. Stewart was snoring lightly in spite of the noise. Rather than wake him, Stephen slipped out from under their shared quilt and padded over to open the door.

The Doctor only smiled a knowing smile when their eyes met, but Jack looked absolutely terrified. "Stephen!" he shouted, greatcoat billowing as he lunged across the threshold and pulled Stephen into a fierce embrace. "Don't you ever, _ever_ scare me like that again! Do you hear me?"

"I'm sorry!" cried Stephen, clinging to Jack just as tightly, feeling the Doctor's arms go around them both. "I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry I scared you. But I'm okay, I promise. Mr. Stewart took care of me."

The two men looked up sharply, just in time to see Mr. Stewart stretch and yawn.

The Doctor was so startled that he let them go, looking as flabbergasted as Stephen had ever seen him. "Mr. _Stewart?_ " he exclaimed.

"That's my name," said Mr. Stewart with a smile. "Hello, Doctor. Hi, Jack."

"You _know_ them?" breathed Stephen.

"We've met," clarified Mr. Stewart.

"So we have!" agreed the Doctor. "Jack, take Stephen back to the TARDIS. Mr. Stewart and I need a moment alone."

Rather than drag Stephen away, Jack let his tight hold slacken, so that Stephen could easily have broken free if he wanted. "Are you ready?"

Stephen tried not to shudder. _Shake it off, Col-bert. Be brave. You can do this._

"Yeah. I'm ready to go home."

⇔

**South Carolina: 1981.**  
 _The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44. Jon Stewart is about a week shy of 47._

Stephen bounded back into the TARDIS with an armful of South Carolina peaches, golden and warm from the August sun. "I think I scared a squirrel for these," he remarked, handing one to each of his friends.

"A price worth paying," declared Sarah Jane upon taking a bite. "These are scrumptious."

"I can certainly believe these are the best in the galaxy," said the Doctor, through a full mouth.

"And definitely better than Georgia's," added Jon, in a tone that made Stephen not quite sure whether he was teasing.

There were two of the fruits remaining, and these Stephen held against his heart while the others finished eating. "Doctor, if this is really the first you've heard of our peaches . . ."

"It is," confirmed the Doctor, pulling some levers and setting the ship in motion.

Stephen sat quickly down against the wall. "Then you learned about them from me. But I'm only on the TARDIS now because I recognized it from when I was seventeen. And the reason I got on it back then was because it landed in the middle of the orchard that I just directed you to."

He looked over at Jon, who had braced himself quickly against the console as the floor started to shake. "And the reason we came to get these was because _you_ needed something to bring me. But I'm only going to insist on you bringing something because I know you'll figure it out."

"I've got another," said Jon. "The fact that I am not a total dick these days can be partly traced back to the fact that you slapped some sense into me back in the nineties. And, unless I'm completely off the mark here, the reason you slapped me was because I failed to live up to your preexisting expectations that I would not be a dick."

_I'm One Too,_ put in the Wørd in his head. _You Went Looking For Me Because You Knew You Had Already Found Me._

"You seem to be a bit of a magnet for ontological paradoxes," remarked the Doctor. "It's as if the universe is determined to use you to prove that sometimes there is, in fact, a free lunch."

"Won't stop you from telling me that there isn't," said Stephen wryly. The phrase had stuck in his head all those years ago—though he had taken it literally at the time, repeating it when he was offered an actual meal by . . .

. . . by . . .

Oh. _Oh._

_And there's another,_ he thought. _But I'm not telling the Doctor about this one. Not yet._

⇔

**Montana: 2026.**

"You, _Mr. Stewart_ , are a terrible person," said the Doctor with a grin. "How many more of these are you planning to spring on me?"

Stephen Stewart spread his hands in mock surrender. "As far as I know, this is the last one."

"It had better be!" The Doctor laughed, then sobered. "Er, please don't take that wrong. It's not that I don't enjoy having you around—but I've been walking on eggshells for a month now, trying to take care of you without completely redirecting your personal history."

"And all that that implies," agreed Stephen.

"Exactly."

"Doctor . . ." Pushing away the quilt Sarah Jane had made, Stephen rose from the couch and walked over to join the Time Lord. "I know what that really means now. I know what happened to your planet. And you never tried to use me to tell yourself to save it. I can't imagine how hard that must have been."

The Doctor looked away. "Pretty hard, yeah."

Stephen was silent for a moment. "But you did it," he continued at last. "You're sending me home— _that_ me, I mean—and here I am, _me_ -me, alive and well and on the far side of it all. All the time loops are closing, with the universe still intact."

"We-ell," said the Doctor. "About that." He met Stephen's eye again, and now there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. "You were caught on tape in 2007."

Stephen frowned. "I had a nightly TV show in 2007," he said cautiously. "I was on a lot of tape."

"No, no, no, I mean _you_ were caught on tape." The Doctor nodded towards him. "In that suit."

⇔

**New York: 2009.**  
 _Stephen Colbert is 44. Jon Stewart is 46._

The night was dark and cloudy, so the blue light on the TARDIS roof provided most of the illumination in the park as Stephen placed the remaining peaches reverently in Jon's hands, then gave him a little shove. "Take these to my studio. I'll be there."

"The next time you see me," said Jon slowly, "I won't know anything about this, right?"

"That's right. And the next time you see _me_ , I will have been dealing with that for a year and a half. All the more reason for you to hurry! Future-me has been waiting a _long_ time."

"If I have this right," protested Jon, taking a step closer, " _this_ you has been waiting a while already."

Stephen looked shiftily at him. ". . . maybe."

With his free hand Jon brushed an invisible speck of dust from Stephen's lapel, letting his hand rest on the fabric. "Can I at least give you something to tide you over?"

As before, Stephen froze. But this time he didn't run away.

When Jon pulled back from the kiss, he found the other man looking startled and a little sad. "Uh-oh. You didn't just decide that wasn't impressive enough to wait around for, did you?"

Stephen shook himself. "It was. Of course it was. I just didn't expect . . ."

He swallowed.

"Jon," he said solemnly, "you taste like _home_."

⇔

**The South Pacific: 2008.**

The hotel room was just as he remembered it. No surprise there: while he had been gone for months, his vacation spot had seen less than an hour pass.

Sarah Jane embraced him warmly. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining. "Goodbye, Stephen. It's been wonderful. Give my love to the Wørd, too."

"Against all expectations," added the Doctor, "you were fantastic." And he hugged Stephen no less tightly.

Stephen felt himself choking up. "Thank you," he managed. "Both of you. For everything."

The door of the TARDIS had almost closed behind them when the Doctor stuck his head back out. "If you don't mind one quick question . . . what was the _actual_ last thing I said to you?"

Stephen smiled.

⇔

**South Carolina: 1981.**  
 _The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Stephen Stewart is 61. Jack Harkness is . . . well, somewhere around 170, if you really want to know._

Once Stephen had changed from the wool and flannel back into his summer clothes, the TARDIS materialized in the orchard, where the sun was sinking low on the horizon.

"Love you, kid," murmured Jack into his good ear, hugging Stephen for the last time. "I'll look you up when I get home. In the meantime, knock 'em dead. I know you can do it."

The Doctor just squeezed his shoulder. "Be fantastic."

And then he was walking on the grass under the old familiar trees, automatically, as if in a dream, until he heard the Doctor's voice again. "Stephen!"

He turned. The TARDIS cast a long shadow on the grass.

"Farewell," said the Doctor, "wherever you fare, till your eyrie receives you at the journey's end."

This was, of course, the polite thing to say among eagles.

"May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks," answered Stephen, who knew the correct reply.

⇔

**New York: 2009.**  
 _Jon Stewart is 46. Stephen Colbert is 45 (and a half)._

When the present-day Stephen opened the door to his office, Jon saw the differences immediately. The younger Stephen had had fewer lines in his face; this version had more grey in his hair. It had been a rough eighteen months.

And then the differences ceased to matter, as Stephen threw Jon up against the wall and began kissing him with the vigor of a man half his age.

After all the effort he had put into keeping those last two peaches safe, Jon was a little dismayed to see them hurled unceremoniously to the floor. But only a little.

⇔

**South Carolina: 1981.**

Jack looked guiltily at the grandfatherly man on the other side of the console. "I did say I would leave the TARDIS when 'Stephen' did . . ."

"It won't be much longer," the Doctor assured him. "He's only here for one last trip. Isn't that right, Stephen?"

"One last trip," echoed the older Stephen with a grin. "Allons-y!"

⇔

**New York: 2009.**

"Marry me," mumbled Stephen.

Jon shifted a little, not sure he'd heard right. They were, after all, lying in an awkward, half-naked heap on a couch not really wide enough for both of them, so Stephen's mouth was sort of crushed against his bare chest. "What?"

Stephen twisted his head to look up at Jon as best he could. "It's legal in six states. We're both available. Also, I love you. So make an honest man of me. Marry me."

"Um," stammered Jon. "This is a little sudden isn't it? I mean, a few hours ago I didn't think you were ever going to speak to me again."

"Well, think about it," said Stephen. "No rush. You can have all the time you need. By the way, how do you feel about Montana?"

Jon was saved from having to figure out what _that_ meant when Stephen's phone went off.

"Let it ring," murmured Stephen, burying his face in Jon's chest again.

Jon reached out an arm and snagged the phone. "I'll just check who it is," he said, tilting the screen towards him and squinting at the text it displayed. "Huh. Who's 'Torchwood'?"

⇔

**New York: 2007.**

 

  
[Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space...](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x7oxmg_truthiness-and-relative-dimensions_fun) _by[sailorptah](http://www.dailymotion.com/sailorptah)_

**Author's Note:**

> See also Serial 6 [geeknotes](http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=27268&chapter=7), [deleted scenes](http://reseda.dreamwidth.org/40198.html), and [illustrations](http://sailorptah.deviantart.com/art/Truthy-TARDIS-Collage-5-6-105405875). There's more on [the Dreamwidth masterpost](https://ptahrrific.dreamwidth.org/64343.html)! Including a few things that aren't getting crossposted.
> 
> The arc word, as gammaguilt correctly guessed, was "[South Carolina] peaches."


End file.
